


The Violet Hour

by night_reveals



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012), Dark Knight Rises (2012) RPF, Inception (2010) RPF, The Dark Knight Rises (2012) RPF
Genre: Consent, Cop Fetish, Crossdressing, M/M, Power Imbalance, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/pseuds/night_reveals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe has the dress on, the black and white tights, the coral lipstick. He's ready for his date. But he doesn't expect to get pulled over by Officer John Blake on the way, or to get so intimately acquainted with his Honda's paint job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Violet Hour

**Author's Note:**

> there were these pictures...and i just started writing. obviously i have no idea who john blake is, or who jgl really is, so this fic is just my id running amock. 
> 
> joe’s bloomers: [here](http://i.b5z.net/i/u/1627330/i/AM-1019-2T.jpg).  
> JGL as John Blake from Batman franchise: [here](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lty5sgwW8t1qi9l1jo1_400.jpg).  
> JGL crossdressing: [here.](https://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltyo3qlF1u1qfxaeio1_1280.png?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&Expires=1320212213&Signature=rTMJ4kVnuVaWPfdwkbo3Wk3%2BNnM%3D) and [here](http://pantyfire.tumblr.com/post/12178078613/deadlybearhug-joseph-gordon-levitt-in-drag).
> 
> content: slut shaming. slight d/s in the context of an established relationship, but no underlying consent issues.

"Shit," says Joe feelingly, one hand on the rear-view mirror and one gripping the leather steering wheel of his Honda as he guides it off the pavement.

The blue and red lights from the police car behind him throw his face into stark lines as he waits on the side of some tiny road in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The asshole who's pulled him over for doing seven miles over is taking forever to get out, and while Joe waits, he can't help looking at the strange face in the mirror. He touches a hand to his painted lips, where he carefully applied a coral shade that the makeup ladies had lent him days ago for the Halloween show. There's a tiny bit smudged around the edges, and he uses a pinky to carefully wipe it off.

His phone says 11:53. He was already running late, and now he’ll really be in trouble. "Fucking really," he asks, almost moaning at his bad luck. The lawyer or his publicist should probably be his first call, but instead Joe scrolls to the "J"s and sends off an apologetic text explaining his dire straits. Police or no, he still plans on getting laid tonight, if later than he thought.

It's then that a light flashes into his eyes, and a low voice says through the open window, "Ma'am, please get off your phone and put both hands on the steering wheel."

Joe starts in shock, actually dropping his iPhone into his lap, where it falls into the folds of his white skirt. He looks up, and he knows his mouth is gaping like a fool’s, but he can't help it -- till he can.

"I'm sorry, officer," he says, and he doesn't make his voice breathy or feminine. He lets it go as low as it wants, playing dirty.

"Uh huh," says the officer, moving his flashlight down to Joe's chest, where Joe's black bustier holds his breasts. "And where were you going in such a hurry?"

Joe lets his hands drip down the steering wheel till he's holding the bottom rim of it coquettishly, rubbing a finger over the black leather. "Meeting my boyfriend," he says, almost mumbling. "He's waiting for me."

There's a pause as the flashlight travels up and down Joe, from his blond wig with the black bow, his long lashes and pouty lips, his breasts and his corset, the white ripples of his skirt and the black and white show of his legs.

The officer scoffs. "Kind of slutty to be meeting your boyfriend, don't you think? He'll want a respectable woman. Someone he can take out on the town. You're all painted up. Nasty."

“I -- I am not,” says Joe, lips trembling. “He likes me like this.”

“Does he?” asks the officer. “And what’s he call you?”

Defiantly, Joe looks up, knowing there’s a challenging spark in his eye. “Joe,” he says, his throat reverberating with his own name.

“Well, ‘Joe’,” the officer says, leaning forward into the window and crowding Joe in against his own leather seats. “I’m not sure I believe your story.” Suddenly, he rises and steps back. “Out of the car, please, ma’am.”

Joe just sits there, offering as much resistance as he can find in his shaking limbs. “I want to know your name. I’m reporting this. You’re harassing me.”

The officer has the audacity to laugh, and he swings his flashlight back and forth over Joe’s body, letting out a low whistle before he flicks off the light. He leans in, hand on his hip right next to his handcuffs. Light from the moon glints off the metal. “Ma’am, my name is Officer John Blake. You can call me ‘officer’. And if you do not get out of this car of your own accord in the next thirty seconds, I will remove you forcibly. And then we’ll see about harassment.”

Joe nods and bites his lip, belatedly realizing he’s disturbing his lipstick. When he runs his tongue over the backs of his teeth, he tastes the beeswax leftover on the enamel.

Officer John opens the door for Joe, and takes a deep breath when Joe swings his long, lean legs out. He’s got four-inch high black heels on, and when he stands he’s taller than the officer. He somehow still feels smaller, though, like he’s surrounded and caged.

“Go to the back of the car please, ma’am.”

Joe almost trips on the gravel by the side of of the tiny road they’re on but John catches him, a hand at the small of his back and one on his shoulder. There are no other cars, haven't been the whole time, and suddenly this strange booking at a hotel in the middle of upstate New York makes more sense to Joe. He grins.

“Something funny?” asks Officer John, pushing Joe the last step to hit the car, where Joe’s newly-sweaty hands slide over the painted metal when he's forced forward.

“No, officer. I’m sorry,” replies Joe, turning his head.

“Head forward,” says the officer, voice cold. Then he prods at Joe’s back. “Bend over. I need to make sure you’re not carrying contraband. Who knows what a girl like you does for your so-called boyfriend?”

Joe slowly bends over, shivering in the night. It’s a cloudless night, but not a windless one, and Joe feels his skirt billow up around where he’s bent over awkwardly. The officer must have a perfect view of his black bloomers. Joe feels his face go hot when the officer wolf whistles.

“Black panties?” he asks. “Your boyfriend likes those, does he? You wear them for him, not you, right?”

“Yes, yes sir,” says Joe into the paint of his car, shivering for real now.

“So you don’t wear them because you’re a slutty girl, do you?” asks John. He hasn’t touched Joe yet, and Joe finally acknowledges that he’s trembling not because he’s cold but because he needs to be touched.

“I’m not a slut.” Joe’s voice is going higher without his conscious thought and he tries to close his legs.

“Keep those legs spread.”

Joe immediately stops, putting his legs back. John continues, “Not a slut, huh? You sure look like one, spread out like this. And those black panties and heels -- good girls don’t wear those.”

“I -- please, officer,” starts Joe, because he can’t take it anymore, he needs something. He starts to lever himself up on a hand, and suddenly the officer is layered on top of him, pressing Joe up against the back of the car, a hand against his back pushing him down.

“You stay down,” says Officer John, almost growling against Joe’s ear. Joe gasps, and his breath heats the car beneath him, a cloud that dissipates quickly. When Joe stays quiet, John pats his back approvingly. “Good girl. Your boyfriend would be proud. Now you stay quiet and I’ll check you. Then you can be on your way to your date.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Joe, true gratitude in every word because John is warmth against the cold.

It starts with the officer placing a two hands at Joe’s shoulders to begin the pat-down. He slides his fingers to Joe's clavicle, feeling it proprietorially, as if Joe’s hiding something beneath his skin. He then goes down to Joe’s sides, feeling the bunched muscles there.

“Why so tense, sweetie?” John massages for a moment, letting his hands linger where Joe’s corset becomes skin at his back. “You nervous about something?”

“I -- no,” says Joe, realizing suddenly that he’s dripping hard in the little black bloomers he’s wearing.

The slow exploration continues, John's strong fingers traveling the length of Joe's torso, going round to his stomach and cupping his hipbones. John works two fingers up the corset at Joe's sides, his flesh cold from the wind, and Joe gasps. He can’t help thrusting a little against the car, and a brief whine escapes his lips before he viciously bites his bottom lip.

“Oh,” says John, his voice as deep as Joe’s want. “You are nasty, aren’t you.” John drags his hands down to Joe’s skirt and grabs at it, pulling the whole of Joe’s body back harshly using fistfuls of the skirt for control. John’s cock is hard like the fucking gun at his side, and Joe shudders with it, feeling its heat against his ass. “You almost had me fooled,” says John, whispering now. “I thought you might be innocent and sweet, but look at you.”

Joe knew it would happen, but he breaks first, turning his head fully around to look back and up. “Shit, please, John, I need you,” he says, and Joe watches as his words hit like bullets in John’s composure, one last quiet “please,” killing it completely.

“I’ll give it to you, since you need it so bad,” says John, feverish eyes on Joe’s own and hands moving fast at Joe’s skirt, flipping it up when he can and just ripping when he doesn’t see black quick enough. “I’m gonna take off this little nothing,” he says, fingering the edge of Joe’s panties and where they connect to his thigh-high tights. “There we go, you stay still for me. I need -- ” John is almost panting, now, and his fingers attack the black bloomers that Joe’s wearing, pulling along the middle seam, hard and uncompromising.

“Don’t tear them, they were a gift,” says Joe breathlessly, begging though he knows there’s no hope for his panties in the face of John’s need.

It’s only a moment more and the bloomers are gone, leaving the thigh-high tights and the remnants of the bloomers hanging off his legs, Joe’s white skirt framing it all.

“Oh,” says John, as if shocked. “Oh, look at you.”

Joe hides his face. “My boyfriend told me to get myself ready for him.”

A finger at his entrance makes Joe shudder against the car, and it teases around Joe’s ass, sensitizing him with every light brush.

“You’re all wet,” whispers John. “Wet for him.”

“Yeah,” says Joe, and he spreads further, begging with his body for John to finally lose control. His heels scrape against the gravel --

“Stay,” says John slowly, warning against Joe’s movements.

“Yes sir,” replies Joe, his cheek now pressed fully against the car, his head light with the loss of blood and control.

He hears a _ziiiip_.

“Since your boyfriend isn’t here, I’m going to give it to you for him, sweetie.” John presses his body against Joe’s, whispering into his ear one last time. He adjusts himself so he’s pushing against Joe’s slick hole, flared cockhead just waiting to work into Joe’s tight heat. “Ma’am?” he says, pushing in only a few centimetres, forcing Joe’s body open tantalizingly little.

“Yeah?” Condensation forms on the car where Joe is breathing, and he closes his eyes in anticipation and nerves, almost imagining he can feel the weight of the mascara of his lashes.

“Are you ready?”

Joe nods once, maybe even only halfway lifts his head, and then John is buried half in him, forcing all the air out of Joe’s lungs.

“Yes,” says John, grabbing Joe’s ass in his hands and using it to pull him back, their skin slapping together in the night. “God, you feel amazing.”

Joe tries to spread further and get John in ever deeper, but he can’t, and he scrabbles against the car. “Just -- ,” starts Joe, trying to say what he needs, more and more. “More, I -- .”

The teeth on his back shock Joe, but then John’s sucking a deep bruise into Joe’s shoulder, pulling off. His breath is loud above Joe, irregular, and then he says with all reverence, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Well this beautiful lady wants to get fuc --” Joe almost gets the whole thing out.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Their hips collide together, forcing Joe to bite off his last sassy words. “Did I say beautiful? What I meant was slutty.” John pulls out, drives forward again and again. “Slutty girl, opening her legs to a man she doesn’t know and has never met.”

“No!” says Joe, and shit -- that came out too heartfelt, didn’t it?

John is already stopping, and bending over, still buried in Joe but not moving. Damnit.

“‘s wrong?” he asks against Joe’s neck, quiet, no longer Officer anyone but just John.

Joe tries to tilt his ass up in invitation to cover up his embarrassment, but John kisses his ear and that just isn’t playing fair.

“Only for you,” says Joe, barely audible -- but John is right next to his head, and he goes still, just a moment.

“Only for me,” he says, questioningly, and then pulls out only to crowd back in. “Fuck -- yes, that’s right, only for me.”

Whatever shame Joe feels at showing his cards gets swept away, then, and he pushes back against John, trying to take as much as he can, spread as wide as he can, get John as deep as he can --

“Joe,” says John, grunting into Joe’s neck and stilling deep inside him.

It takes a moment for the world to settle, but when it does, Joe turns around, lifting his head at last.

“Really?” he says, a bit manic. “Couldn’t even give me a reach around?”

John has the good grace to look sheepish, running a hand through his sweaty, close-cropped hair. "Turn your ass around." Then, belatedly, "Ma'am."

When Joe does, his white skirts falling back down, John sinks to his knees. The gravel must be harsh even though his pants, which he's still mostly wearing. John obviously doesn't care.

"So who's the slutty one?" Joe wraps a hand in whatever of John's hair he can, using it for control.

"Me," replies John, grinning up and running the head of Joe's dick over his lips.

"That's what I thought," says Joe, before he loses the ability the speak altogether, and fucks John’s mouth as roughly as he wants.

 

After, they sit in the back of the cop car, Joe's legs (still with the ridiculous black and white tights on) swung over John's.

"They let you use your cop car off-duty?" asks Joe, pulling John in for a kiss before he can answer.

When he's been relinquished, John smiles, only a little evil. "Friend who owed me a favor."

"Pretty big favor."

"You liked it?"

Joe looks pointedly at his skirt, where the shiny, red head of his cock is already starting to poke through the ripped fabric.

John laughs. "Well, we still have those handcuffs..."

"I wouldn't laugh if I were you," says Joe. "You've obviously got some learning to do about staying power. Those will come in handy, I think."

John is smart enough to look a little horrified, but not smart enough to run away.

It turns out the handcuffs hold up to lots of tugging.


End file.
